


everything i need i get from you

by saysthemagpie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxious Niall, Barebacking, Dubious Consent, First Time, Harry is kind of an asshole, M/M, Unsafe Sex, heed the dubcon warning!, i don't think he's actually like this fyi, straight boys having sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5213378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saysthemagpie/pseuds/saysthemagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You like it, don’t you,” Harry murmurs, thumbing over the head and making him gasp. He’s rutting gently against Niall’s leg now, breath coming loud and harsh in Niall’s ear. “Makes you feel so good.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Yeah,” Niall breathes, hips bucking into the touch, “yeah, 's good, feels good, Haz,” and he feels dazed and a little lost but weirdly grateful to Harry for telling him what he’s feeling, for describing to Niall what’s happening to his body when his own brain can’t seem to connect the dots.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	everything i need i get from you

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up this morning and was like, "I wonder if it's possible to write kinda dark dubcon Narry," since it seems like the fluffiest and most loving ship. Then I wrote this little ficlet. Just FYI: they're both sober and Niall vocally consents, but it's a bit...iffy.

The first time they fuck it feels weirdly inevitable, even though when Niall thinks about it afterwards he can’t remember ever seriously thinking about boys, much less Harry, that way before. One minute they’re wrestling over the FIFA controllers on the bed, pinching and tickling each other and giggling, and the next minute Harry’s pinning him to the bed, sucking a slow, wet mark just above his collarbone. Niall’s arching up into it instinctively before he can even register what’s happening, overwhelmed by the feeling of Harry’s mouth on his skin, the weight of Harry’s body pressing him down into the mattress. 

“Lou’s gonna be so mad,” he manages.

“Mm,” Harry says, kissing up the side of his throat, and then they’re making out properly, hot and lazy and slow, Harry slipping his tongue into his mouth like they’ve done this a thousand times before. Niall can feel the outline of Harry’s erection through his briefs already, a thick, insistent line against his naked thigh. When Harry slips his fingers under Niall’s waistband and snaps the elastic hard, it makes his stomach muscles jump in surprise: a quick, involuntary response.

“Take ‘em off,” he murmurs into Niall’s mouth, rolling partly off of him, and Niall scrambles to comply, wriggling out of his pants and kicking them down somewhere towards the bottom of the bed. He’s still mostly soft, like his body hasn’t quite caught up with what’s happening, but Harry doesn’t seem concerned, just licks his broad palm and wraps it around Niall’s dick, jerking him with long, steady pulls.

It’s weird to be completely bare while Harry’s still got clothes on, a reversal of their usual positions. It makes him feel hot and squirmy and ashamed, exposed under the curious intensity of Harry’s gaze. He’s never been that comfortable with his naked body; compared to the other boys he knows he’s nothing to write home about, too pale, no muscles to speak of, his dick only average-sized. He wants to say something—wants to apologize, weirdly enough, for not looking more like the kind of person Harry normally gets off with, but he can’t seem to speak, or do anything other than stare slack-jawed at the shiny pink head of his cock as it disappears and reappears in Harry’s fist.  

“You like it, don’t you,” Harry murmurs, thumbing over the slit and making him gasp. He’s rutting gently against Niall’s leg now, breath coming loud and harsh in Niall’s ear. “Makes you feel so good.”

“Yeah,” Niall breathes, hips bucking into the touch, “yeah, ‘s good, feels good, Haz,” and he feels dazed and a little lost but weirdly grateful to Harry for telling him what he’s feeling, for describing to Niall what’s happening to his body when his own brain can’t seem to connect the dots.

“Want to fuck you,” Harry says, his voice deeper and slower than Niall’s ever heard it before, and Niall’s dick jerks involuntarily, blurting precome over Harry’s fist. It’s—he’s not—but before he can respond Harry’s bending down and taking Niall's cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head in slow circles, working over the shaft with his hand as he swallows him down. The panic retreats, wiped out by pure mindless pleasure.

Harry sucks cock like he loves it, like he can’t get enough of it, and it’s so vastly different from anything Niall’s experienced before. He’s used to girls who go down on him like it’s an obligation, getting him hard with their mouths so he can fuck them after. He wants to get a hand in Harry’s hair but he’s not sure if that would be rude, too forward, so he settles for fisting his hands in the rumpled sheets, spreading his legs wider so Harry can take him deeper. Everything is hot and wet and overwhelming, his body so strung out on sensation that it takes him a while to register the blunt finger rubbing slow, gentle circles around his entrance.

It feels weird but it doesn’t feel bad, exactly, even when the finger slides into him just a little bit, the very tip of it dipping inside him. He’s never wanted this before. He’s never even tried it on himself, not even when he’s wanking alone in his room. He didn’t even know Harry was into this sort of thing, to be honest. But Harry must like it, or think Niall will like it, so maybe—maybe it could be good, could make him feel good. He can’t think straight; he hasn’t had a drink all night but he feels sort of hazy like he does when he’s had a few too many, his body drunk on pleasure. All he can think about is keeping Harry’s head in his lap for a while longer, that soft velvety heat around his cock.

“Okay,” he blurts out, “okay, you can—um. You can do it.”

It feels even better once Harry’s slicked up his fingers with a half-empty tube of lube from the bedside table. He opens him up as he sucks Niall off, and when he finally comes it’s with Harry’s throat flexing around his dick and two fingers buried in his arse. He feels all floaty and loose-limbed with pleasure, and when Harry urges him onto his stomach he goes easily.

It isn’t until Harry’s actually pressing inside him, slow and relentless and _big_ , that his post-orgasm haze begins to dissolve into panic. It feels like being split open: a steady, implacable pressure, the stretch of it so agonizing it makes tears well up suddenly in his eyes. Harry’s weight on him feels more oppressive than reassuring; it’s the same feeling he gets when he’s trapped in a small space, unable to get out, alone alone alone, and he has to press his face into the pillow to keep from embarrassing himself by crying out. _Pillow-biter,_ he thinks suddenly, a flash of memory: boys in a schoolyard shouting and pushing, throwing elbows and fists and insults. The bright startling pain of scraped palms and knees. Harry’s groaning in his ear, dicking into him faster and faster, but Niall’s having a hard time concentrating on what he’s saying. He wishes that he was on his back so Harry could kiss him again, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it, doesn’t know if that’s allowed.

“So fucking tight,” Harry gasps out. “Feels fucking amazing around my dick, Ni, _fuck_ , always wanted to try it like this.” He’d promised to pull out but his orgasm seems to take him by surprise, because suddenly he’s finishing inside Niall with a grunt, his long, lean body tensing as he ruts into him a few more times. Afterwards they lie there like that for a long time, Harry collapsed on top of Niall, breathing raggedly in his ear, until he shifts and his softening cock slips out of his arse along with a trickle of sticky wetness. Niall flushes, embarrassed, and Harry laughs a little.

“God, you’re a mess,” he says. Niall feels his fingers prodding again at his rim, slipping inside more easily this time, feeding the cum back into him. He whimpers a little, arse clenching around nothing, empty. After a minute Harry seems to lose interest, wiping his sticky fingers on the back of Niall’s thigh and pressing a soft, gentle kiss just above his tailbone before withdrawing.

“Gonna hop in the shower,” he says, already scooting off the bed. “Wanna finish the game when I’m back?”

“Sounds good,” Niall says, turning his face a little bit so he’s looking at the wall, and Harry pads into the ensuite, fiddling with the taps and turning on the water.

The clock on the bedside table says it’s nearly half seven. He should probably get up in a minute—go back and take a shower in his own room, maybe, and then text the lads to see what they’re up to for dinner. For now, though, it feels nice to just lie still, staring at the delicate whorls of the wallpaper print, his mind a perfect blank. In the bathroom he can hear Harry singing softly to himself, his voice barely audible over the rush of water, and he closes his eyes to listen. He thinks it might be a song he’s heard before, but then again, maybe it isn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://www.ticklefightharry.tumblr.com).


End file.
